


Voiceless

by distractionpie



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: (Written Pre-S2), Gen, OOC, Pre-Canon, Sickfic, The Breach - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractionpie/pseuds/distractionpie
Summary: Winters at the breach can be hard. Gren is dedicated to his duty, but dedication only goes so far.





	Voiceless

It starts with a sneeze.

Newly promoted Ensign Gren isn’t the first. This winter has been harsh and, since their current encampment is further from the heart of the breach than usual, they aren’t even getting the benefit of heat flowing off the lava. Gren has had to pad his armour carefully, both to insulate him and to keep the plates from rattling on the nights where the chill sunk so deep into his bones that no itchy woollen undershirt could keep him from shivering. Sickness has been chasing through the battalion for weeks, though so far none of the illness has been serious – enough that people have been let off their duties for a few days to recuperate and the fires are stoked high warming bedpans for the medical tent but even the worst cases have been back on their feet after a few days and fully recovered not long after. They’re not at full strength but, since nobody has been sent off the line, they’ve been holding off on calling for reinforcements.

Really, it would be stranger if the lurgy hadn’t struck Gren at some point.

He stuffs a handkerchief in the pocket of his tabard (he’s seen some soldiers wiping their noses with their tabards, but Gren has been trained as a diplomat and honestly even before that his mother would have cuffed his ear if she heard of him behaving so sloppily, especially with a symbol of Katolis) and gets on with his duties.

He knows what to expect. He’s heard other soldiers complaining about their symptoms often enough.

The sneezing comes first, short episodes which quickly settle into either a blocked or runny nose. Fortunately for Gren, he gets the latter. The constant need to wipe his nose is annoying, but it’s preferable than the embarrassment of having to speak for Amaya in the stuffy voice the soldiers who have blocked noses are getting a side effect.

General Amaya teases him, after she catches him wrinkling his nose in an attempt to keep it from running while his hands are too busy interpreting her fast paced discussion with Lieutenant Jallen to reach for the handkerchief, but cautions him to pause the conversation to wipe his nose should the situation arise again, let somebody mistake the faces he’s pulling for judgement on their conversation.

Although Gren was slightly worried to be working so closely with her when he could be contagious, General Amaya hasn’t been touched by the illness and he knew that, while he was still new to working directly with the General herself, in all the time he’d served under her she’d never taken ill, seemingly blessed with an immunity to all common ailments.

Next come headaches. The severity varies from sufferer to sufferer and while some have taken bed rest while this stage passes, Gren assumes they must be experiencing far worse than him. The pain is persistent and it clouds his mind, but what sort of soldier would he be if pain kept him from doing his job? As it was, he’d always been assigned posts with minimal risk of seeing actual combat and working for General Amaya usually kept him far back from the lines and danger – he’d be a disgrace to his armour if he couldn’t handle interpreting with a headache when his fellow soldiers fought battles with gaping wounds. The medics are offering willow-bark tea but Gren doesn’t ask for any – they might have plenty now but who knows how far this illness will spread and what sicknesses might follow it, it would only take one bad snowfall to cripple their supply lines and it wouldn’t do to squander resources on a minor ailment.

For a few days after that, the symptoms ease up, but Gren has seen too many cases before him to be confident he’s in the clear.

Instead, as with around a third of the others, the infection spreads to his chest.

He’s luckier than most, his breathing grows thick and his wakes several times every night from the coughing, but it’s not so forceful as to make his ribs ache like some of the sicknesses he had as a child. No, the problem with the coughing is that it’s hard on his throat. Thick, syrupy teas become his beverage of choice and for a few days they keep the problems at bay, but the cough doesn’t subside and soon his throat feels dry and raw, aching with every breath.

And with every word.

That General Amaya can’t hear the hoarseness of his tone is a small mercy, but it doesn’t change that fact that the others all can and Gren knows he’s failing at his job. His voice matters when he’s speaking for the General. He’d been granted the privilege of such an honoured position because he didn’t just convey her words, he watched her expressions and the finer points of her gestures and did his best to deliver her words with a tone and a style he thought suited her intentions. But now every time his voice cracks or his words are interrupted as he’s struck by the need to draw wheezing breaths, he makes his General look weak.

It is unacceptable.

Gren isn’t sure what’s worse, continuing to do General Amaya the disservice of making her sound back with his strained words, or the disgrace of admitting his failure and allowing another in the battalion to take his position – someone not properly trained as an interpreter, but who at least wouldn’t sound like a strangled sheep while attempting to deliver the General’s orders.

For a few days he tries, knowing he’s doing a bad job but not willing to concede his failure, until one day he rises --aides de camp have their own tent apart from the fighting force of the battalion and so it’s a bunk he rolls out of not a bedroll though Gren still feels a little uneasy every time he takes advantage of the unearned comfort-- bidding Quartermaster Revet in the next bunk a good morning.

Or, that’s what he tries to do.

What comes out of his mouth is a weak groan.

Gren clears his throat, although the effort of it sends a shooting pain through his neck, and tries again.

Again, the words don’t come.

Revet grimaces sympathetically in his direction and Gren knows that she understands, Revet had a pretty serious case of the same illness a few weeks ago although she hadn’t let it affect her ability to do her job.

He dresses quickly, layers of under armour to keep the cold out and then his light armour for camp duties, with his tabards over the top.

It all feels heavy and the frosty winter air is sharp in his lungs as he walks to the mess tent, grateful to find that his soothing tea has become routine enough that one of the cooks has it waiting to give him at the same time they serve up the camps breakfasts.

He sits alone and sips the tea, feeling it easing down his throat and soothing some of the pain there, but when he’s done and he tries to thank the squire who gathers his cup, but still all he can manage is a feeble sounding gasp.

The sickness has taken Gren’s voice.

Nobody else has had this symptom. Sore throats are common but most people just rest their voices for a few days and those problems fade with the rest of the illness, but that was never an option for Gren. His voice is General Amaya’s voice, using it was how he served, and without it he’s useless to her.

Normally by this point in his day he’d already be heading over to the General’s tent, ready to attend morning meeting with her.

Today, his duties will be impossible. But that doesn't mean he shouldn't report in.

He presents himself at the General’s tent, just as she’s wrapping up her breakfast meeting with key advisors – all individuals who are close enough to her that Gren’s services are not required.

He watches them depart, filling out with nary a glace in the direction of where he waits, Gren is always thankful that, however acutely people might attend to his words when he’s interpreting for the General, he is still able to fade into the background when outside of that capacity. As soon as the last of them, Commander Harris, has departed, Gren takes his cue to enter.

Amaya is rifling through a stack of papers, but she stops at the sight of him and begins to sign out the day’s agenda as she ways does when he first arrives. From the speed of her hands and the number of morning items she lists, Gren can tell it’s going to be a busy day and his stomach churns at knowledge that he’s about to make that day more difficult.

He raises a hand, signalling her to pause, and then signs out his predicament.

A frown settles over her face as he explains, and he fights not to falter under her scrutiny. He hasn’t been careless, he’d taken every precaution against sickness he knew but so had most of the other soldiers and the spread of contagion was almost impossible to avoid in an environment as close as a military encampment, and he’d rested his throat whenever he wasn’t on duty, but General Amaya still looks disappointed and it’s all Gren can do not to scuff his boots and look down at the canvas floor like a scolded schoolboy. He’s been trying so hard to make a good impression on the General, to prove he can excel in this role despite the fact he’s not as good as a fighter as the army might wish, but the sharp gestures with which she commands him to fetch the master-at-arms have him wondering if he has disgraced himself so badly that she is ordering him disciplined.

It’s not hard to find the man, his tent is nearby to the General’s, although he seems surprised by Gren’s summons.

The master-at-arms is a skilled enough signer so Gren keeps his eyes dead ahead as his superiors confer, knowing that one of them will signal him should they require his attention but that as freshly promoted Ensign there are discussions between more senior officers that he should not observe. Somebody else will need to cover his duties he knows, and it would make sense if he covered theirs in return -- provided he has the skills to do so, but he wants to stay. He might not be able to give his voice to the General, but he can still interpret the others for her and anyway context is important for interpretation, if he misses vital information now because he’s absent from the meetings it might limit his usefulness later.

But when he’s finally called back called back it’s because the master-at-arms in leaving and for a moment Gren feels relief, he’s not been called here to discipline purposes, he’d hoped General Amaya was fairer than to punish him for something largely outside his control but he hasn’t served here long and he remembers how harsh his training could be and still isn’t sure what to make of the fact life in the battalion involves so much less getting shouted at than he’d anticipated.

General Amaya is frowning at him again and Gren snaps to proper attention but that only makes her sigh. “Captain Farren will be fetched interpret for me,” she signs. “You are dismissed.”

It’s not unexpected, of course she wants an interpret who can actually do his job, but the coolness of her dismissal, that she hasn’t even assigned him alternate duties, she just wants him gone, has him hesitating for a moment before he realises that not following her orders can only be making things worse.

It’s not at all what Gren wants, he can still be useful here, but he’d never question an order from his general, and certainly not in circumstances such as these, so he salutes her and the captain who is replacing him and retreats from the tent.

Dismissed.

The shape of it burns in his eyes. Had she meant for the duration of the morning meetings? Or until he was useful to her again? Or was he being dismissed from his post entirely for his unreliability? It was fortunate that they were in camp, where there were plenty of others around who could sign capably, but what if they’d been stationed somewhere more remote and she’d been relying on Gren’s skills only for him to fail her like this.

He has to find some way to make it up.

In another battalion he might have struggled more, but most people who've served under General Amaya for more than a short spell have at least a basic grasp of sign and so it isn't difficult to find someone from Farren’s unit to whom he can explain his present inability to carry out his duties and who is willing to assign him basic tasks.

Sorting damaged armour, picking out what needed sending to the blacksmith for repair versus what would need scrapping and replacing entirely, is the work of a squire or a new recruit not a trained officer, but, since he’s seeking duties to replace the ones he’s failed to fulfil, Gren can’t complain. Although he does make a mental note to raise the fact that they might be able to salvage more damaged armour if it was stored sensibly before sorting rather than left outside, though he’ll have to wait a little while to raise this concern less it be dismissed as him objecting to the way the cold chaps at his hands, he can’t check smaller faults with his gloves still on, and makes his breath catch in his chest.

He’s not too attentive to the passage of time beyond being relieved when the sun rises high enough that he’s no longer half-blinded by the glare and acknowledging the departures of a few of the people who are working around as they go for their midday meal. On a usual day, he eats when his General eats but that doesn’t apply today, he could go when the others are going, nobody is closely monitoring his work, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite, his sore throat makes swallowing uncomfortable and after some consideration he decides he’d rather prove his usefulness in getting the armour sorting done than go over to the mess tent and waste time choking down food he doesn’t really want.

He’s worked for perhaps another hour or so when he senses a disturbance, looking around and noticing the tension rippling through the others who are taking away the stuff that’s been sorting and those working on other tasks nearby.

He turns.

General Amaya, face like a storm cloud and fiercer than any dragon stalks towards them.

This, Gren suspects, is true anger, the likes of which he’s never seen from her before. He’s always known she was intimidating but now he sees that General Amaya frustrated or General Amaya commanding has nothing on the awe-inspiring site that is General Amaya angry.

Gren pities whoever is responsible for this.

Then she points.

Oh. Oh no.

It’s him.

He’d failed her this morning, but he’s done his best to find other tasks he can be useful at, not shirking just because his regular duties have been assigned elsewhere. She’d seemed irritated this morning and perhaps it had been less than he’d deserved, but Gren still can’t imagine what could have driven her to such fury.

Being slow would only make things worse, so, when she beckons him toward her, he places his tools down, knowing that Farren’s squad will understand the General’s orders come before everything, and approaches.

She waits until he’s stopped at attention in front of her and then signs with deliberate, emphatic motions. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

Gren glances over his shoulder to the pile of half sorted armour behind them, wondering what she’s really asking since her question seems obvious. “Working?” he signs, slow with uncertainty, wondering if he ought to elaborate.

“No,” she signs, and repeats it several times over, with swift, emphatic flicks of her fingers, before she adds, “I dismissed you.”

She had, and Gren had accepted he had nothing to offer her personally, but he could still be useful here, helping Farren’s unit to make up for the fact it’s his fault they’re down a leader.

“Dismissed,” she signs it letter by letter this time, as she had with a few military terms Gren had been unfamiliar with when first assigned to her, but she knows that he knows that word, so clearly she’s spelling it out to make a point. “Dismissed does not mean go take on other duties.”

Gren swallows. He’d understood that he couldn’t serve the General today, had even accepted that she might replace him as her interpreter, but he hadn’t really thought she’d want to dismiss him from the battalion, but he can’t think of any other reason for her obvious anger at him finding an alternate task.

She shakes her head and starts walking again and he falls into step a few paces behind her, bemused as he realises they aren’t going to her tent, or any of the command tents, and then truly perplexed as she leads him into the medical tent.

“You’re sick,” she signs, even though it’s hardly worth remarking on when so is half the battalion and it’s just his voice. And the cough. Plus, the shivers. There’s the occasional lingering headache, but they pass quickly-ish. It’s nothing he can’t handle. He might be weaker than most of the soldiers, but he can do this. “Sit.”

But as much as Gren is certain that he doesn’t belong in the medical tent, when his General gives him an order he obeys.

“What treatments did the healer order?” she signs.

Gren hadn’t seen a healer, he knows there’s not much they offer for a simple winter sickness other than hot tea and patience but General Amaya is looking at him expectantly so he signs, “I had soothing tea for breakfast.”

The General frowns, the signs back, “Soothing tea _with_ breakfast?”

Gren frowns back at her. Those signs don’t look similar and they’re both commonly used enough that surely she trusts he hasn’t got them mixed up.

His expression must give him away because the General’s face twists with annoyance and then she signs, “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” her gestures practically dripping with exasperation.

Huh. He knew General Amaya ate breakfast every day, but he’d figured that was a consequence of holding breakfast meanings, not a possible reason for it. Gren has never been much of a breakfast eater, it just seems like an unnecessary delay in getting the day started, but he decides against sharing that with General Amaya. Perhaps he ought to get into the habit of eating something before reporting for duty, just so that he can have a good and true response ready should the subject ever come up again.

The healer comes then, asking what’s wrong with Gren and he signs his explanation --that it’s hardly anything, just a sore throat and winter cold symptoms-- but then General Amaya holds up a hand to stop him then turns to face the healer, clearly giving orders, though the angle means he can’t see what she’s signing, and the worry starts to creep back in. There’s no need for him to be here when almost everyone else has just dealt with their illnesses and maybe the General wants the healer to check if he’s faking or she doesn’t trust his assessment of his ability to work.

Once she’s done the healer starts to prod at him, taking his temperature and his pulse, making him open his mouth so she can stare into it, and then listening to his chest as he coughs – scowling disapprovingly the entire time.

“Idiot,” she says plainly, once she’s done and Gren balks at the unfairness. He’s not an idiot, he’s watched others and learned all the ways they coped with their illness and he’s been getting by just fine for nearly three weeks. “You’ve let your cold turn into a throat infection. You’re lucky it hadn’t spread to your lungs.”

And now General Amaya is glaring at him too and so the protests Gren is about to make –that isn’t that just the same thing as what everyone else has-- dies before he can lift his hands. He can see when he’s outmatched.

The healer prescribes more of the soothing tea and also to avoid outdoor work where the cold air is likely to worsen things, that he needs to have his lungs checked daily for a spread of the infection until she says otherwise, but that truthfully there’s little they can do except wait for time to heal. So except for the avoiding outdoor work and getting his lungs checked, exactly what Gren was doing already. The healer leaves and he gets up from the bench, already thinking about where he might be able to find work that can be done from within a tent –he has neat penmanship and there’s always requisitions and reports to be written so perhaps he could find somebody to take dictation for—but is immediately stopped by General Amaya’s hands on his shoulders, firmly but not roughly pushing him back down onto the bench. For a few moments she simply holds him there and Gren waits, looking up at her and her unfathomable intensity. And when she finally lifts her hands, he stays.

“You are relieved of duty,” she signs, and Gren can tell that this is a command, not just a reminder. “Your assignment is to rest. Recover.”

Gren nods. He still thinks he can be useful elsewhere, but if General Amaya would prefer him not to get himself assigned elsewhere then he’ll make sure he’s as available to her as he can be. “I will return as soon as I am able,” he assures her. Surely it shouldn’t take more than a day or two before he would be able to speak again, even if the sore throat lingers.

“No,” General Amaya replies, and her brow is still furrowed but there’s something softer than what he’s used to in the look, concern perhaps. “I have had reports. From people who weren’t surprised that Farren was taking over your duties, they say you’ve sounded ill for days.”

That’s correct and it’s clear General Amaya is annoyed by this and it makes guilt snake into Gren’s chest. She should have known. She’s the general and it’s wrong that her subordinates have been aware of an issue and she had not because Gren, who would normally convey supplementary details such as tone to her, hadn’t thought to tell her what everyone around her could hear. Partly because his own voice hadn’t seemed relevant in the way that the tones of others were, but also because he selfishly hadn’t wanted to admit that he might be making her sound less strong than she ought. But perhaps it had been just as much a failure in his duties not to appraise her of his condition. He’d figured it was beneath the notice of a general, but that had been before it had impacted upon her arrangements.

“You will return to duty when the healer says you are fully recovered,” she signs. “Not when you are just capable of performing tasks enough to worsen your symptoms.”

Gren raises his hands and then drops them again with the sinking realisation that that is exactly what he has done. If he’d admitted his difficulties earlier and asked General Amaya for some breaks to drink tea and ease his throat then he might never have got to the point of being incapable of working at all. Then he lifts a single hand and signs, “Sorry.”

General Amaya shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry, just be well.”

Gren nods. If General Amaya wants him to be well then Gren is going to take the best care of himself anyone has ever seen. He won’t let her down again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at writing this duo and ultimately I'm their characterisation and dynamic didn't come out quiet to my satisfaction - and Gren's characterisation especially feels overly negative now I've finally caught up on S2 and his views on being chained up not down :) - but I was a fun little exploration so I thought I'd share.


End file.
